


More Precious Than Emeralds

by poisonivory



Category: DCU (Comics), Green Arrow (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics)
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:15:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29298747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonivory/pseuds/poisonivory
Summary: “I don’t know what I feel,” he admits now, Kyle’s hand still in his. “Except that I like being with you.”“Do you have to know more than that?” Kyle asks, his voice very gentle. “Eventually, sure, but right now? I mean, look, I’ll have to go back out there eventually.” He gestures to the open window with his free hand, and Connor knows he doesn’t mean out into the blizzard but back into space. “So I’m not trying to tie you down here or anything like that. That wouldn't be fair to you. I just want to, you know. Carpe that diem while I’m here. Not waste any of my time on Earth.”“Listening to me waffle isn’t wasting your time?” Connor asks wryly.Kyle shrugs a shoulder. “Nah. It’syou, isn’t it?”-Kyle's willing to wait while Connor figures things out. Connor's not.
Relationships: Connor Hawke/Kyle Rayner
Comments: 16
Kudos: 55





	More Precious Than Emeralds

**Author's Note:**

> DC may have forgotten about Connor Hawke, but I never will. This is set sometime pre-52 and post-Green Lantern: Rebirth, uh...somewhere. *handwaves*
> 
> The title comes from Oscar Wilde: "Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals."
> 
> Thanks to [Mizzmarvel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizzmarvel/pseuds/mizzmarvel) for the beta!

It’s snowing in New York.

Kyle’s apartment is a fifth-floor walk-up, cramped and cozy, the rooms all funny little shapes from when the original nineteenth century tenement was chopped up into even smaller living quarters, and then smaller ones again, and then expanded back out into something Kyle insists is actually a lot of space for New York, at this price, in this neighborhood. Connor spent his adolescence in a monastic cell, but even he thinks Kyle’s overselling things a bit.

He’s in New York because...well, he’s in New York. Kyle’s been playing tour guide all day, from the little hole-in-the-wall coffee shop where Connor paid far too much money for a shockingly small cup of green tea, to the vegetarian dim sum parlor where they paid a shockingly small amount of money for far too much food, to a walk along the river at the southernmost point of the island. Gray storm clouds hung heavy over the gray water, the Statue of Liberty a tiny but stalwart sentinel on the horizon.

Kyle held his hand for the whole walk along the riverfront, chattering aimlessly, and when they paused to admire the view, he put his warm palms on Connor's cheeks, chilled by the wind off the water, and kissed him.

Right. Connor's in New York because he and Kyle do that now.

It started a few weeks ago, in Star City. Kyle came to visit, which was nice; Connor hasn't seen him as frequently since Oliver came back to life, and even less since Hal did and the Green Lantern Corps was resurrected. Connor wouldn't trade having his dad back—and having him actually _want_ to be his dad—for anything, and of course he knows how much it means to Ollie to have Hal back, to Kyle to finally be part of the Corps for real...but sometimes he misses the days it was just him and Kyle figuring it out together. He's never minded letting Kyle be part of the big leagues while he helps the little guy, but these days Kyle's leagues are even bigger and Connor sometimes doesn't feel like he's helping anything at all.

They were walking through one of Connor’s favorite parks in the city when Kyle asked if he could kiss him. Connor was less surprised than he maybe should have been, considering he’d never imagined such a question from Kyle before. But something about it felt right, like the natural next step, and so he said yes.

Connor had been kissed before. He’d rarely wanted to kiss back. Not until now.

When they broke apart, Kyle rested his forehead against Connor’s, his hands settled at Connor’s waist. “Hi,” he said.

Connor couldn’t help laughing a little. “Hi,” he replied. “Where did that come from?”

“You seemed to like it,” Kyle answered, and Connor’s cheeks went a little hot. “I don’t know. It’s been waiting for a long time, I guess. I mean, I’m not a subtle guy, Connor. You had to suspect I lo—I liked you.”

“I like you too,” Connor said, because it was true. Even if he wasn’t entirely sure _how_ he liked Kyle, if it was as much as Kyle apparently liked him.

And if the word he was pretty sure Kyle had almost said sent him into a bit of a panic, well, that discussion could wait until he had some time to think it through.

So now he’s in New York, and Kyle is radiating happiness, and Connor is torn between being pleased that he, apparently, is enough to cause that, and being concerned that it’s not justified. It’s easy enough to forget the latter feeling when the snow starts a couple of blocks away from Kyle’s place.

“Hey!” Kyle holds his free hand out, bare palm up. “I didn’t think this was supposed to start for hours.”

“Is it supposed to get bad?” Connor should have checked the weather before heading cross-country. He didn’t.

“Little blizzard-y, yeah,” Kyle says, pinching his fingers together to indicate the apparent smallness of the blizzard. “Everyone’s been grumbling about it, but I love it. Blame it on growing up in California. Snow’s still a novelty to me.”

And he laughs like a boy, face tilted up to the sky and his hand still in Connor’s. Connor watches the white flakes settle on his black hair and eyelashes like stars, this man who has been to more planets than Connor can name and still finds wonder in an ordinary snowfall. Kyle’s cheeks are pink from the cold, and Connor doesn’t think about it before he leans in and kisses one of them.

Connor never does something without thinking about it.

But Kyle gives him a startled, delighted look, and Connor realizes it’s the first time he’s initiated that kind of touching between them. Has Kyle been keeping track? Has he been feeling unwanted?

Is Connor doing this all wrong?

There’s not very many places to sit in Kyle’s apartment. He doesn’t even have a couch—there’s no room with the drafting table and easels and the fancy ergonomic chair Kyle works in that Connor doesn’t feel comfortable claiming. Kyle says he doesn’t mind not having anywhere to entertain, and Connor believes him—he knows all Kyle cares about is the atypically generous allotment of windows and the subsequent abundance of natural light when it’s not evening during a blizzard. What does it matter if the stove has only two burners and no oven, if the bed has to be wedged into one of the apartment’s weird little alcoves and the dresser is in the bathroom? He can _work_.

Connor’s perched on the end of the aforementioned bed, self-conscious and trying not to be. It’s stifling in the apartment despite the storm picking up outside, wind echoing like a sobbing child when Kyle reaches past Connor to crack the window open.

“Sorry,” he says, looking over his shoulder at Connor with a rueful smile, dark hair falling into his eyes. “The steam heat in New York is notoriously aggressive, but I don’t have any control over it. I basically sleep naked all winter.”

“Oh,” Connor says inanely, because suddenly he’s _picturing_ it. In this bed. The bed he’s currently sitting on.

Kyle misinterprets Connor’s sudden discomfiture, or maybe he doesn’t. “Hey,” he says quickly, sitting next to Connor—but not too close. “We don’t have to do anything that—I mean, I know you haven’t—” He cuts himself off, gives a rueful shake of his head, starts again. “I brought you here because it’s snowing out, not because I expect anything. I’m happy just spending time with you, Connor, really.”

“I like spending time with you, too,” Connor says honestly. Kyle’s hands are in his lap, and Connor picks one of them up, slotting their fingers together. Kyle’s hands are paler than his, with calluses from holding pencils and paintbrushes, not hitting things. The ring sits heavy on his middle finger. Kyle usually makes it invisible when he’s not in costume, but he’s not hiding anything from Connor.

Connor’s not trying to hide anything from Kyle. He’s trying to figure out the truth so that he can share it.

“I Iike holding hands with you,” he says, because he knows that much. Kyle’s palm feels good pressed against his. “I like kissing you.”

“But,” Kyle urges, like he’s sure that there’s a caveat hidden in Connor’s intent.

“There’s no but,” Connor insists. “It’s just that this is all new to me.”

“Dating someone?”

“ _Wanting_ to date someone,” Connor clarifies, and is rewarded with another one of those surprised, pleased smiles. Kyle shouldn’t be so surprised every time. Kyle should _know_. Connor should tell him.

But tell him what?

That he loves him? Connor wants to be in love, has wanted it his whole life. But what does being in love mean? What does it feel like?

He thought, somehow, that he would just _know_. His father, so famed for his wandering eye, always says that with Dinah, he just knew. “The minute I saw her, I was done,” he said once. “It’s not that I never loved anyone else. It’s not that I didn’t love your mother, Connor. But Dinah...she’s my lady. There’s all there is to it.”

“The minute I saw him I wanted to slap him,” Dinah added, making Ollie laugh. “But he grew on me. Turns out there’s a decent man under all that bluster.”

“Don’t tell anyone, you’ll ruin my reputation,” Ollie warned, and Dinah laughed and rolled her eyes and kissed his temple. It made Connor smile, even as a small part of him ached a little with jealousy for what they had.

Connor’s not naive enough to really believe that love hits like a bolt from the blue, no matter what his dad says. He doesn’t think he’s the type to fall for someone he truly dislikes, either—but maybe love does grow over time. Maybe you cultivate it like a garden. Maybe it can wither.

Or maybe he’s more like his mother, with her unerring tendency to fall for the wrong man, to indulge their selfishness in the name of self-sacrifice and call it devotion. He already knows he’s not like Roy, who falls in love at the slightest provocation, breaks his heart to pieces, and tries again the next day.

_Kyle’s_ a little like Roy, Connor thinks. Connor doesn’t want to be the reason his heart breaks this time.

He also doesn’t want to lie.

“I don’t know what I feel,” he admits now, Kyle’s hand still in his. “Except that I like being with you.”

“Do you have to know more than that?” Kyle asks, his voice very gentle. “Eventually, sure, but right now? I mean, look, I’ll have to go back out there eventually.” He gestures to the open window with his free hand, and Connor knows he doesn’t mean out into the blizzard but back into space. “So I’m not trying to tie you down here or anything like that. That wouldn't be fair to you. I just want to, you know. Carpe that diem while I’m here. Not waste any of my time on Earth.”

“Listening to me waffle isn’t wasting your time?” Connor asks wryly.

Kyle shrugs a shoulder. “Nah. It’s _you_ , isn’t it?”

He says it like it’s obvious, that this man who has reignited stars is content to listen to Connor dither about his own anxieties for all of his limited shore leave. Connor has trained himself out of letting his emotions guide him—it never ended well when he was a child, when all he seemed to be able to feel was a bottomless pit of anger and violence. Safer, always, to think his feelings through and then act.

But he doesn’t feel angry now. And maybe he doesn’t have to worry about being safe, either—not with Kyle.

“I think this is a better use of your time,” he says, and leans in to kiss him.

Kyle meets him willingly, his mouth soft and warm against Connor’s, his free hand coming up to curve around Connor’s cheek. It’s easy to kiss him, even though Connor doesn’t have much experience; easy to part his lips and touch his tongue to Kyle’s, to let go of his hand and let one of his own fall to Kyle’s waist, the other to his thigh.

Kyle sighs into Connor’s mouth. Connor used to find that off-putting, the few times he’s kissed people in the past—sharing breath, the humidity and scent of it—but now the intimacy is electrifying. Kyle’s nails scratch lightly against Connor’s scalp, and the shiver it sends down Connor’s back goes all the way to between his legs.

He loses track of time, lulled by the soft, slick sounds of their kissing. When Kyle pulls away, Connor’s lips tingle. Kyle doesn’t go far, leans in farther to mouth at Connor’s neck just below his ear, behind his jaw, and Connor gasps at the way it lights up his whole body.

“Sorry,” Kyle says quickly, pulling back, his brow creased with concern. "I didn't mean to—was that too much?"

His mouth is redder than usual, wet and a little swollen. His hair is mussed, and the deep green glint of his eyes is barely visible between the darkness of the room and how big and black his pupils are. When Connor glances down, he can tell that Kyle's hard, just a few inches from Connor's hand on his thigh.

Connor wants to move his hand higher. He wants to see Kyle naked in reality and not just in his imagination. He wants to cross a line.

Normally he would stop and consider: Does he love Kyle? Is this the wisest choice? Will he regret this someday?

But letting himself _want_ something, cleanly and viscerally, is such a relief that he nearly laughs out loud.

He slides his hand up an inch or two, not quite into overtly sexual territory, but enough, he hopes, to make his meaning plain. "It wasn't too much," he said. "I'd like to...to try. With you."

Kyle's next inhale is sharp and surprised. "Are you sure?" he asks, even though Connor's arousal must be as evident as his own.

"I'm sure," Connor says, and kisses him for good measure. There's so much he's unsure of, but not this. Not right now, with Kyle.

Kyle lets Connor kiss him, lets his hand drop to Connor's hip, but then pulls back. "If anything doesn't feel good...if you want to stop, you know you can tell me, right? I don't want you to feel like you—"

" _Kyle_." Connor smiles. "I know. I'll tell you."

Kyle visibly relaxes, and then he's kissing Connor again, his hands sliding up under Connor's shirt. They feel good against Connor's bare skin, and he doesn't protest when Kyle helps him tug his shirt off, stopping to pull off his own before bearing Connor back against the mattress. Kyle is a little more slender than Connor, less muscular with the ring to do the heavy lifting for him, but he's lovely, all the graceful lines of him.

He kisses his way down Connor's throat, hands touching everywhere—his chest, his sides, his stomach. Connor's skin feels more alive than usual, like he's hypersensitive, like every part of him wants to jump into Kyle's touch. Kyle's mouth brushes his chest and his heart thunders.

He wants to touch too, and so he does, his hands pressed to Kyle's back and shoulders, feeling the muscles flex beneath his warm skin. As Kyle's head dips lower, Connor's hands shift to his hair, falling like black silk between his fingers.

"Kyle..." he murmurs, and then gasps as Kyle's tongue drags over his nipple. "Oh!"

Kyle beams up at him and lets Connor push his hair out of his eyes. "Okay?"

"I...yes," Connor says. "I never..."

"They're not just decorative," Kyle says. "I mean, they are, technically, but that doesn't mean we can't have fun with them." He licks the other one and then blows cool air across it, and Connor twitches in his pants.

"I guess not," he says, and Kyle does it again, teases him until he's breathless. He never thought he could be so sensitive there. He never thought he would _want_ to be.

Kyle moves lower, kissing his way down over Connor's stomach. "God, your abs," he mumbles, lips buzzing against Connor's skin. "Have I told you how incredibly hot you are, by the way? How _beautiful?_ "

Connor hesitates, his face warm. "You haven't, but I feel like saying that sounds like I'm fishing for compliments."

Kyle laughs and kisses his hip. "You're the most gorgeous thing on the planet, Connor Hawke. I've always thought so."

Connor blushes harder. People have complimented his looks his whole life, from when he was a child with a halo of blond curls, and especially once he left the ashram with a body that still felt newly adult and no idea how to interact with the outside world. He's never known what to make of it; he knows his deeper complexion and light hair and eyes are unusual enough to draw attention, but he's never thought his features were anything to write home about, for good or bad. They're just...him. _He's_ just him.

Kyle is the pretty one, but Connor doesn't know how to say these things as easily as Kyle does, so he just touches Kyle's cheek and hopes he understands.

Kyle dips his head to kiss Connor's hip again. "Want me to keep going?" he asks, nodding downward, and Connor knows he means with the kissing and not the compliments. "I'd really like to suck you off, if that's okay."

The startling crudeness of the phrase—and Connor is not too naive to know that it could have been much cruder—sends an unexpected thrill through him. His hips flex upwards involuntarily, and Kyle laughs. "Well, that looks like a good reaction."

But he waits, eyes trained on Connor for a verbal answer. Connor bites his lip and nods. He's not sure he's ever been this hard. "Please."

He expects Kyle to undo his pants immediately, but he moves to nuzzle Connor through them first. Connor lets out a little whimper, a noise he's never heard himself make before.

Finally, finally, Kyle opens Connor's pants. A sudden flash of green light helps Connor raise his hips, and Kyle tugs his pants and briefs down together. But it's _Kyle_ who sighs when Connor's arousal is freed, lifting to bump against his belly. "Beautiful," he murmurs.

The ring tosses Connor's pants and underwear somewhere out of the way, and then he's naked. He's flushed, too hot in the warm apartment, but somehow not embarrassed. His own noise is tight and urgent when Kyle puts a hand on him for the first time, even though it's just a gentle circle of fingers at his base, steadying him. He's touched himself—of course he's touched himself—but he didn't expect it to be so much more intense with someone else.

"Kyle," he pleads. Kyle kisses him, all down the underside of his shaft, wet and open-mouthed, before dragging his tongue back up, root to tip. Connor pulses in his hand, overwhelmed.

"Okay?" Kyle asks, though the amused look on his face tells Connor he already knows the answer. "Good?"

"Green Lanterns aren't supposed to be cruel," Connor manages.

Kyle laughs, bright and happy. Connor didn't think sex would include this much laughter. It's a nice surprise.

"Fearless, honest, and strong willed," Kyle corrects. "The Guardians never said anything about being a cocktease."

Once again, the raunchy language goes straight to the seat of Connor's arousal. From the quirk of Kyle's mouth, he notices it this time. " _Kyle_ ," Connor pleads, as much to forestall the inevitable questions as to urge Kyle on.

"I've got you," Kyle says, and takes Connor into his mouth.

"Oh..." Connor closes his eyes at the feeling, the soft, wet heat, the suction. Kyle's tongue presses just under the head, and Connor has to bite his knuckles to hold back the sounds that threaten to escape him. But, oh, oh, Kyle’s _mouth…_

Kyle hums around him and Connor forces his eyes open, looks down. That pretty mouth almost looks better than it feels, wet and red as it stretches around him, his cheeks hollowing as he works for Connor's pleasure. The sight is obscene, but not the way Connor always thought of the word—as something wrong or shameful. It's unashamedly sexual, and it's loving, and it's beautiful.

Kyle's eyes are closed, but Connor manages to free a shaky hand from the bedsheets and comb it through his soft hair. "Kyle..."

Those eyes flutter open and look at Connor through thick, dark lashes, the faintest glint of green perceptible beneath them. His gaze is heated, and there's no question that Kyle's enjoying himself—and that's before Connor notices that he's worked his free hand beneath himself.

The thought of Kyle needing to touch himself just because of what he's doing for Connor is dizzying, but Connor suddenly realizes that _he_ wants to be the one to give Kyle this kind of pleasure. "Don't, please," he said, and Kyle pauses the movement of his mouth, brows furrowing. "I want to touch you. After."

Kyle pulls off with a deep, rattling groan. "Fuck, Connor," he breathes. "You better come quick, then, because I don't know how much longer I can wait."

His mouth is so _wet_ —Connor has to, just _has_ to reach down to touch it. Kyle catches the tips of his fingers and sucks on them lightly before releasing them. "I will," Connor promises. "I'm...I'm almost there. I...Kyle..."

"Go ahead," Kyle says. "Whenever you need to. I want to make you feel good, Con," and before Connor can assure him that he is, he _does_ , he always has and now more than ever, Kyle's mouth is on him again. He's moving faster now, taking Connor deeper somehow, like he's as eager for Connor to find his release as Connor is, and nothing that feels this good can possibly last.

"Please," Connor begs, trying to restrain the movement of his hips. "Kyle, Kyle, so good… _please_."

Kyle reaches for his hand, tangles their fingers together, hums and swallows, and it's too much, Connor is gone, shaking as the pleasure overtakes him. Kyle doesn't let him go, mouthing him through the aftershocks until it's overwhelming, until Connor can't help but flinch away.

Then Kyle pushes himself up, kneeling between his legs, flushed from his cheeks all the way down to his chest. He opened his own jeans at some point, pulled himself free, and he's hard and flushed, wet at the tip. His hair is in wild disarray. Connor can't imagine what love is if it's not this.

"How was that?" Kyle asks. His voice is hoarse. "You okay?"

Connor struggles to his knees, crashes gracelessly into Kyle to kiss him. Kyle's mouth is bitter, and Connor shivers when he realizes he's tasting himself.

"Please," he says, touching those pink cheeks, feeling Kyle's hardness nudge damply against his stomach. "Please, I want to make you feel good, too. What should I...how do I...?"

Kyle's groan is quiet, but no less urgent for that. "God, whatever you want."

Connor could use his hand. It can't be that different than doing it for himself. But he wants to give Kyle everything he's been given—and maybe even more than that, he wants the intimacy of it back again. "Can you lie down?"

Kyle's smile is downright goofy. "You bet. I'm great at lying down," he says, and suits the word to the deed. Connor moves down the bed on his knees, tugs Kyle's jeans and boxers down without the help of a power ring. He doesn't mind the extra effort. And if he touches Kyle's thighs and calves more than perhaps strictly necessary to get him naked, Kyle doesn't seem to mind either.

And then Kyle's naked in his bed, just like Connor imagined, but his imagination wasn't so warm or breathless, didn't look up at Connor with pleading eyes. Connor didn't want to _touch_ nearly so desperately in his daydreams.

"Tell me what to do?" he asks, leaning forward until his breath gusts over Kyle's damp skin.

"Oh fuck," Kyle says shakily. "God. Whatever felt good when I did it to you? Um." He shifts under Connor, hips pushing up slightly. "Kiss it. All over. Kind of...uh. Kind of messy?"

Connor bends down, presses those wet, open kisses to Kyle's hardness. It twitches under his lips, and Connor puts a steadying hand on him before continuing.

"Yeah," Kyle breathes, shuddering. "Just like that, please, just...lick it? All the way, like...fuck. Yes," he says, as Connor does just that. "And put your tongue in...right at the tip."

Connor uses the tip of his tongue right where Kyle's leaking. From the way Kyle gasps and clutches at his own hair, he's doing it right.

"God, Connor, yeah," Kyle sighs. His hips squirm and Connor uses his free hand to hold him in place, gentle but firm. "Fuck, how are you so...? I can't, I'm not gonna last."

"Should I put you in my mouth?" Connor asks.

"Oh my god." Kyle's bright red and sweating. He's stunning. "Please."

Connor takes Kyle in his mouth, careful of his teeth. It’s not as difficult to manage as he thought it might be—he can’t take Kyle as deeply as Kyle took him, but he sucks on what he has, stroking the rest with his hand, feeling the taste of something salty and bitter spreading across his tongue.

“Yeah, god, that’s perfect, fuck,” Kyle says. His hand pets at Connor’s hair, his cheek. It’s harder to look up at him from this angle, but Connor wants to watch him, wants to see how good he’s making Kyle feel.

Kyle is noisy without something in his mouth, which is unsurprising, really. “So good, Connor, please, love you so much, so beautiful like this, don’t stop…” he babbles, squirming and shifting under Connor’s touch.

_Love you so much._ Connor’s not sure Kyle even realizes he said it. Weeks ago, hastily cut off, it made Connor panic. Now it makes him feel warm, secure; makes him move a little faster, suck a little harder.

“Connor,” Kyle sobs. “Con, I’m going to…”

Connor’s not sure he’s ready to take all of Kyle, so he pulls off, strokes Kyle with his hand and watches his face. A minute later Kyle groans and climaxes, and he’s beautiful, so beautiful - the arch of his spine, the shape of his panting mouth, the sheen of sweat on his skin. Connor’s no artist, not like Kyle, but this is a moment worth capturing.

He sits back on his heels and just _looks_ at Kyle, torn between an unfamiliar feeling of pride at his accomplishment, and uncertainty over the polite way to handle the fact that they’re both...sticky.

Kyle opens his eyes, the deep green of the pine forests back home, and gives Connor a sleepy smile. “Hey. C’mere,” he says.

There’s another flash of green light, and suddenly they’re both clean and dry, which Connor has to admit is handy. He crawls back up to stretch out beside Kyle and kiss him, curled onto their sides, facing each other.

“Hey, you.” Kyle’s smile is adoring. Connor suspects his own expression is similar. “How do you feel?”

Connor thinks about it. “Good,” he says honestly after a minute. “I feel really...good.”

Kyle’s smile widens. “Good,” he repeats. “You don’t have to rush back to Star City, do you?”

Connor shakes his head against the pillow. “They’ll call me if there’s an emergency, but otherwise, no.”

“Good,” Kyle says again. He burrows closer to Connor. “There’s some more places I want to show you, if we can get out tomorrow. The snow might trap us in here. I hope you can cook.”

“I hope you have vegetarian ingredients,” Connor replies, and Kyle’s sleepy laugh is muffled against his shoulder.

A few hours later, Connor wakes up, pulled from sleep by something he hears. It takes a moment of confused disorientation before he realizes it was actually something he’s _not_ hearing that woke him. The wind’s died down outside. The storm is over.

He’s not sure what time it is, but he’s pretty sure New York’s never been this quiet, even at this hour. It’s still hot in the apartment, and the top sheet is tangled around their hips, the blanket shoved to the floor. There’s a stillness to the room he wants to remember, a peacefulness he struggles to attain in meditation.

He turns his head to look at Kyle, lying on his side—his hair falling into his face, his eyelashes a dark smudge against his cheek. His lips are slightly parted. Connor would reach out to trace the shape of them with his finger, the line of his nose, if it wouldn’t wake him.

He thought love would announce itself more dramatically than this.

Maybe for people like his father, love bursts in and makes itself unmistakable. Maybe it drags others in kicking and screaming. Maybe it’s dizzying highs and lows for some; maybe it’s mostly pain, but worth it nonetheless.

Or maybe love is the way Kyle’s hand rests over Connor’s heart like it belongs there.

He lets his eyes close, content in the too-warm stillness of Kyle’s home. He doesn’t have to have all the answers right now; Kyle isn’t rushing him, and Connor doesn’t have to rush himself. When he’s ready to say it, Kyle will be there to hear it.

For now, he’s at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> [Come say hi on tumblr!](https://pluckyredhead.tumblr.com/)


End file.
